Deserted Futures

A few disreputable planets later, they found one with a more agreeable status. It was a Rim world, but a peaceful one for all that, and seemed very settled and relatively prosperous. On it they found a town with a children's agency, one that would take Darwhen in and try to arrange a permanent home for her. From all they could discover, it was very respectable, very on the up-and-up. Inara nodded her approval.

"This is it," Mal said firmly.

River had no argument.

She didn't even try to smile as she pressed the last of the clothing they'd bought Darwhen into a duffle bag on her mattress and pulled it closed. Darwhen herself was across the room, sitting against the wall, her arms crossed. She hadn't said anything against being left on this world; it had been the plan all along, after all. But she also hadn't made any move to help gather her few things for packing.

River sensed fright and sorrow and some anger the one time she allowed any leakage through her mental walls, and since she was feeling the same things herself she only swallowed around the knot at the back of her throat and stood. She slung the duffle over a shoulder and turned to look at Darwhen.

The child rose to her feet too and stood there looking back, a small form in green overalls with unquiet eyes. River sighed, and remembered her own leave-taking for the Academy almost eight years ago.

There had been lies. "We'll write," her parents promised. "Call us anytime that you need us." She'd known at the time that those were falsehoods, but it was all right because Simon said the same things and meant them.

She wanted no lies between herself and Darwhen.

"I don't want you to have to go," she said with honesty. Darwhen only dropped her head.

"I wish you could stay here." River approached and crouched in front of her. "But you need to have a stable family. It's not good, to grow up without one. We think you might find one in this place."

Darwhen didn't reply; her cheeks scrunched up on the sides, forcing her eyes to narrow. She was holding back tears. The knowledge ripped a piece off of River's heart, but she ruthlessly ignored that.

"If you need anything – if anything is ever wrong, and whoever is caring for you can't fix it – no matter when it is – I want you to wave me." River cleared her throat, it was closing up on her and making her words come out forced and hoarse. She held out a small card with Serenity's contact information on it. Darwhen shook her head and pressed her back against the wall.

"Please," River whispered. She blinked back wetness and touched Darwhen's shoulder. "I wish I could be there to take care of you all the time. But I can't. This is – this is the best that I can do."

There was a pounding on her hatch. "Get a move on in there," Mal's voice called. "We're all waiting in the mule." 'All' was himself, Inara, and Simon. Neither Jayne nor Kaylee had any business in need of doing on this planet, and where staying behind. Kaylee professed herself unwilling to bear the sadness of the last ride into a town with Darwhen. Jayne hadn't explained his unwillingness to go at all, even when Mal pointed out that there'd be at least a few hours of free time and that there were plenty of taverns in the area.

"Please," River said to Darwhen again, ignoring her captain. The sound of his footsteps retreated. After what seemed an interminable time, Darwhen lifted a hand and grasped the small card, pulled it away, and tucked it into an overall pocket. She crossed her arms and stood frowning at the floor without saying anything.

River straightened. Before she could back up a step and turn, however, there were two arms around her and threatening to tip her over.

Still getting comfortable with touch and affection, River nevertheless let the bag she held slide to the floor, and bent and lifted the heavier weight of the child into her arms. She cradled the warmth of her into her chest and tried to absorb the moment, fix it in her memory, for later when Darwhen was no longer available. A few of those threatening tears escaped, and so did some of Darwhen's, but not many. They were two of a kind, in some ways. River had come far from the once-uncontrollable displays of emotion that now embarrassed her. Darwhen had perhaps never had to suffer them, but she was still reluctant to cry in front of others.

Despite Mal's words, no one really looked impatient when the two of them finally reached the mule. Kaylee lingered in the bay to say good-bye and give a fierce hug to Darwhen. Jayne never appeared at all.

There were no more hugs at the agency. Darwhen held to River's hand through the whole process, the talking and the paper-signing and the handing over of belongings. But when it came time for her to leave with the short fat man and the tall thin woman, she allowed herself to be separated with a quiet dignity that was almost worse than if she'd clung and cried.

She didn't want the hand of either of the new adults, though. Instead she reached for the side strap of the duffle containing her belongings, that the short man held, and looped her fingers around that. No one objected.

River whispered goodbye. Simon waved, Mal nodded, Inara smiled gently. And that was all.

The mule ride back to Serenity was a quiet one. The evening meal was even quieter. Everyone went to bed early.

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Two full days later, about midnight, Jayne was cleaning the gun that had seen use that morning clearing up a little misunderstanding with a customer. He hooked it into its place on the wall, and then something made him turn toward the entry ladder.

River was at his door; Jayne sensed it before she knocked. He pushed open the hatch and faced up at her, both of them in t-shirts and sleep pants. Her eyes were bright with tears and had dark circles under them. He knew she hadn't slept well the past two nights.

"I need to be intoxicated," she whispered down to him. He gauged her slight form for a moment, and then turned back into the room, leaving the way clear. River came down, the hatch shutting behind her. She sat down on the floor while he rooted around and found a long-necked bottle. Then he sat beside her, their backs to his bunk, and passed her the alcohol after taking a swig himself. She lifted it to her mouth.

"How can there be holes where there was never any substance before she came?" River's voice was dreamy, vague.

Jayne leaned over to grab the bottle back from her hand. He'd learned that if he just let her ride it out, eventually either he'd make sense of what she was sayin' or she'd shut up.

River let her head fall back against his mattress and closed her eyes. "I miss her, Jayne."

He nodded. That was clear enough. If he was honest, there had been a few moments when he'd be sitting at table the last few days, or with nothing particular to do down in the cargo bay, and he'd kind of missed the kid, too.

"Do you want children, Jayne?"

He shrugged. "Never planned on it."

"Is there a specific reason?" She reached for the bottle. He let it go slowly, brushing his fingers along hers. She pulled it away from him.

"Don't see the point. 'Sides, half my genes are respectable, comin' from my ma, but my pa was a right wang bao dahn and I don't suppose I'd do any better by a kid than he did me 'n Mattie."

River took a swig and was silent awhile, before speaking again. "I remember expecting to have a family when I grew up. But since having grown up crazy, I haven't given it thought. Children are for normal people."

Jayne laughed derisively. "Really? Cuz I can recall some right not-normal people raisin' kids. Don't mean they shoulda been . . ."

There was quiet except for intermittent swallowing.

"I don't think intoxication is a good plan," Jayne told River as he watched her throat move, head tilted back, hair spilling unto his blanket. Feelings coursed through him at the sight and he shoved them away. Not the time, he admonished his groin. "Remember what I told you, River."

"'Celebrate often, and drown you sorrows occasionally, but never let the alcohol make you a slave. I recall, Jayne."

River raised the bottle she held to the light and stared through it, rotating it. Jayne wondered what she saw.

"You've taught me so much."

He blinked at her. At first he thought she was talking to the bottle, but then she eyed him sideways.

"Eh? Oh." He reached for the bottle. She released it more quickly than necessary, avoiding his touch. "You mean, like how to track." He lifted the bottle in a mock salute. "And how to get drunk."

She smiled but shook her head where it lay back on his mattress. "I mean like life-lessons, Jayne." The smile faded as she angled her torso toward him, drawing her knees up. She rubbed her cheek against his blanket and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why that would make him hot, but it did. "I mean like, absorb what is as fast as you can and get on to what needs to be done. Like, live life as hard as you can or there's no point. Like, take pain like a blessing but learn to let it go." She said the phrases as thought they were axioms. Maybe to her they were.

"Pain like a blessing, don't think I've ever told you that." He took a second mouthful of alcohol before passing it back to her. This time she didn't jerk away and their fingers met briefly. Pleased with his small victory, Jayne dropped his head back on his bunk to stare at the ceiling.

"You told me without words." River held the bottle but didn't take another drink. "You believe pain makes you stronger, but only if properly balanced. You tell me that with all your exercise in the bay, no pain no gain. You tell me with your chosen occupation, with your devotion to your mother, with your decision to stay on this boat."

"Could be I just know not to pass up a good thing." He turned his head toward hers on the bunk. He'd been acutely conscious of close they were to each other, but his heart still sped up at the nearness of her face. She'd been staring at his profile, and her eyes were dark liquid, and her lips were deep red.

"Yes," she whispered while he held her gaze. "Another lesson, not passing up a good thing. Maybe I haven't learned it so well." Her empty hand rose between them, hesitated a moment, before filling itself with Jayne's cheek while he held very still. Then his gut twisted as uncertainty flashed over her face and she dropped her hand and stood, her motion fluid as if she'd had nothing to drink at all.

Holding still hadn't worked, so Jayne leaped up after her and for a wonder beat her to the hatch. She tried to stop her forward momentum but he didn't let her, grasping her arms and hauling her up against his body. He'd been so gorram patient, and things weren't goin' nowhere, and -- there was just so much he was willing to take. River moaned at the contact and melted there on him, for an instant, and Jayne took the advantage he'd wanted for months and leaned in and kissed her mouth. Full, open, pressing. Hard. She gasped and his tongue was inside her, wrapping around her own.

River couldn't even summon the will to protest. It was too much; she was too swamped in the goodness he was giving her. She let out the groan that was climbing in her throat, while wrapping her arms around his neck and standing up on tip-toe to reach him better. He helped by grasping her hips and lifting her up off the floor, bracing her against him and both of them against the wall while he slanted his mouth over hers. He did it with a fierceness that clenched her insides into hard knots of desire. Her heart trembled with the knowledge that this is Jayne, this is your partner, but the Jayne-ness was what flared this aching heat through her. She responded to his mouth with the urgency of months of denied passion. The small space of Jayne's bunk was thick with the taste of what she'd been craving. It was neither expert nor skilled, that kiss, but it was need and want and togetherness.

Jayne was afraid to stop, to give River a moment for second thoughts. But she was talking against his mouth; he caught his name while her hands fisted in his shirt. And he had to breathe sometime.

And she might hate him later.

So he lifted his head, let his lips slip from hers. He clenched his jaw and waited. When her eyes drifted open they were dazed. They cleared quickly, though. With a sense of inevitability, he watched the doubt creep into them. And then they were damp.

So he let her hips slide away from him, too, and eased her down unto the floor even though he was cussing a storm in his head. Her one step back seemed like a ship's length in distance. He crossed his arms, feeling deserted.

"You gonna do it?" he asked, his voice hoarse. He cleared it and went on, harshly. "This is a good thing, a very good thing. You gonna pass on it?"

Her gaze dropped to the floor and she crossed her arms defensively in an unconscious imitation of his stance. He growled and swung to the side, out of the way of the hatch. She went up it quick for all that her legs trembled. He had his back turned when she slammed it shut.

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dirty bastard